What Lovers Do

“You have my number now.”

“I do,” I say as if it’s no big deal.

“Goodnight, Sophie.”

“Night, Shep.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHEP

“What? For the love of god, out with it.” I say to Howie, my best friend, as I tee off. “You’ve had a constipated expression on your face all morning. Who died? Did one of your testicles fall off in the middle of the night? Is Caroline cheating on you with her boss?” I return my driver to my bag.

“It is about Caroline, but … wait … why would you think she’s cheating on me with her boss?” He removes his ball cap and scratches his closely shaven head before repositioning it.

“I don’t think she is. I’m sure she’s not, but sometimes you have to do the math.” I release the brake on the golf cart and speed down the path.

“And what’s the math?”

“One: You’ve said your sex life is in a rut. Two: Millie said Caroline’s boss used to manage a fitness center, and she blew out a disturbingly deep sigh when she said it. Three: Millie and Caroline are in a book club that predominately reads romance novels. One plus two plus three equals six.”

“And what is six?” Howie asks.

“The answer. I’m just trying to be a little more original than two plus two equals four.”

“Shep, dude, good thing we’re friends, or I’d really be worried about your one plus two plus three state of mind. You need to get on a dat—”

“Don’t say it.” I skid to a stop and hop out, grabbing a five iron. “If you turn into Millie and start talking about dating apps, I will divorce you too, but it will be my idea not yours.”

“How else are you going to meet someone? Get laid? Get an occasional hand job … if you’re working at a pet store every day next to a woman in her fifties?”

“Maybe a customer comes in.” I line up my club and smack the ball. It’s a shit shot. Howie’s in my head. “Maybe she’s a single woman with olive skin, dark hair just below her chin, wispy bangs, and sexy glasses that instantly demand attention. And you know about her. A feeling because she gives you a look.”

“That’s uh … really specific, man. Does said woman exist?” Howie struts to his ball a good fifteen yards away from mine. After he drives it straight toward the hole because no one’s in his head, he makes his way back to the cart.

“Her name’s Sophie. She’s an optometrist. She has a poodle or maybe a doodle named Cersei Lannister. Granted, she’s single but unavailable. It’s a new status, I guess. Anyway, I’m looking into it.”

“Well, from the sounds of things, twelve plus forty plus seventeen equals sixty-nine. That’s your lucky number, Shep.”

I grin. “Shut the fuck up. What were you needing to tell me? Something about Caroline?”

“Oh, yeah, that. I already mentioned it. Slipped it right in there without you noticing. Sometimes I do that to Caroline too.”

I smirk. We’re friends because neither of us are capable of taking life too seriously. “Condolences to Caroline, Pencil Dick.”

Howie laughs. He’s able to laugh at himself better than any human I know. “I really deserve some sort of award. With my familial Puny Pecker Syndrome, I have to use my dick, three fingers, and a toe to get the job done properly.”

With a fist at my mouth, my entire body vibrates with silent laughter. I have actual tears in my eyes. I just … can’t with him.

“Anyway, Millie asked Caroline to ask me to convince you to get onto some dating apps, preferably at least one that Millie’s on as well. But now that you’re on the verge of nailing a doctor with sexy glasses, I can’t make the dating app case anymore.”

“I’m not nailing her.” I hit the gas toward the green. “We’re having some intense phone sex, but that’s it.” I give him a grin that says I’m joking. “And when I go all Morgan Freeman on her, I can practically hear her panties dissolving. But I digress … Millie just wants me on the same dating apps so she can check out her competition. As if my idea of fun is hanging out with my ex and letting her scroll through my phone.”

“Fair enough.” He hops out of the cart. “At least I can tell Caroline that I asked, and you said no. That should earn me some decent head or at least a lick or two while she fondles my one testicle that didn’t fall off in my sleep.”

I bark a laugh and shake my head.

“But seriously, Shep. I’m glad to hear that you’re not moping around, still beating yourself up over your failed marriage. Way to get back in the saddle.”

I dig into my pocket for some cash to get a beverage. “I wouldn’t call this ‘back in the saddle.’ I’d call it a concerted effort to prove Millie wrong. I think her favorite pastime is imagining me still pining for her and reveling in the fact that it was she who ended our marriage with her horrid lying and desperate need for control, as if I was a warden in her life and not her husband.”